I’m finally willing to admit it:
DREAMS ARE BORING.
Other people’s dreams, that is.
I’m a big dreamer. Over the years, Cliff has been tolerant and listened to my dreams. I suppose he feels it’s his husbandly duty.
But a few mornings ago, I said in an exuberant voice, “Can I tell you about my dream?”
“Yes,” he answered before taking a sip of coffee. After the sip, he added, “Just don’t make it real long.”
And you know what?
His reply didn’t bother me. I didn’t even think about getting mad or hurt. Not at all. I have finally realized that dreams are usually boring to the listener.
I hate dreams in books. I hate them in plays and movies too, the worst being the visit of the grandmother in Fiddler on the Roof.
And I DO NOT want to be tricked into finding out something was all a dream. The exception of course is the Wizard of Oz. You are not a good steward of the world if you hate The Wizard of Oz.
Every now and then someone will tell me they dreamed of me.
Will I be the star of the dream? Will I rescue the world? Sing a magnificent aria? Turn into a runway model?
Nah. I often make an inane comment or float through the dream without any real significance.
So even hearing those dreams can be a disappointment.
Therefore, in my continual project to shape myself up before I die, my new goal is not to bore others with my dreams.
Travel stories. Yes.
Childhood stories. Yes.
Medical stories. Yes.
But I have sworn off sharing my dreams.
What about you? Do you like hearing about other people’s dreams? Do you like dreams in books and movies and plays?
DISCLAIMER: I want to go on record as saying I love to hear of daydreams or dreams for your life or pipe dreams. To Dream the Impossible Dream from Man of La Mancha is one of my favorite songs.
But that’s another post.